Crest 2001

(, OJ (6 s. srt!

Thankyou!

By reading this bookyou have not only improved your mind but supported local creativity.

A special thanks to the Oak Park River Forest High School PTO for their generous contribution and all those who helped with this production

Giaciously,

The Editors

A]ison Mizen

Kate Seremek

Jane Ryder Hannah Nolan-Spohn Anna Schwartz

Sarah Spira Lou Dagostino

and advis or M r. Richa r d Zabr ansky

Oak Park River Forest High School 2001

Contributors

Baldwin, Katherine........115

Benisek, Kate...........................................3 Brown, Mathieu...............69 Clark, J.... .....23 Collins, Rob.................... .......80, 90, 112 Conway, Vanessa.................44, 49, 52, 99 Dagostino Lou...........109, 116, 121 Davis, Josh.................................38

Divis, Lucy.... ..............................37

Elsen, Kathe rine...............64

Floodstrand, Michelle....5l, 66, l0O Galasek, Heidi................ ....................27, 47, 90 Garrity, David.........................................4 Gentry Darryl Keith...................32 Goldstein, Jenny................60 Graves, Erin................... ...0, 107 Gudell, NieIs.........................70 Haglund, WilI....................117 Jones, Kristy............... ..........83, 94 Kennington, Cristina.....62 Klein, Laura ...........................63, 9l Labadie, Julie........................97 Lewis, Jessica........................104 Lohmann, VaI.......................59 Madden, 8il1.............................36 Maenpaa, Matt................. ..50, 65 Malchow Katie................ ..........12 Manders, Steve......................41 Martinez, Veronica...........................10 Mc-Hale-Rodgers, Matt.... ..............9 6 Mercer, Meredith................ ................6, 28 Merrick, Kate........................58 Mikelsons, Cara................73, 103

Mizen, Alison.........................48, 89 Nicolosi, Kristen..............78 Nolan-Spohn, Hannah....84 Novak,Adam ........31,114 O'Neill, Shane.........................................20 Orphan, Claire........................................8

Or oza, A1..................................64 Patrick, Ryan................. ...........102 Pepper, AIison.................................40 Prossnitz, Me9......................................11 Rattan, Rishi.......................................98 Rutledge, Markus.......... ....................21, 67 Ryder,Jane. ..........35,57,111 Schwartz, Anna.................... ........,34, 56, 6l Scribner, Zac............................36 Seremek, Kate.................. ..................24 Shultes, Jessica....................... ............23, 77 Slack Jasan ...............15, 105 Spira, Sarah ............30 Staszak, Luke................108, 109, 113, 115 Stockmann, Colleen......... ................12, 43 Taylo4,Anne..... .....13 Taylor, David................108, l0l,10g 116 Tideman, Megan............ ....................14 Thornton, Emily.................92 Troelstrup, Jayne ............ ....................2,42 Vinyard, Chris. 46 Wadley, Mark.........................................16 Walden, WiII.................... ........................22, 29 Wedoff, Ernest..................6& 8B Weldon-Linne, Leksi........................19

CRESTMADLIB

Once upon a therewas a(n) 2- group of 3-who had a(n) literarymagazine called -5-Crest.Theymetfor -6 -every

week and talked about 7 poems and_Bstories. Sometimes they even looked at-g-photographs and 10drawings. When they didnt have anything better to do, they ll-sang the -l2-theme songfrom l3-.Sometimes theyate 14and drank 6_.These the _18- Crest very much.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. B. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 1B t9. 20.

noun adjectivepluralnoun_ adjectiveadjectiveperiod of time_ a{ective adjective adverb TV foodadjectiveplural nounverb (past tense)adjective-

The Night is Over

A stone cold silence encased me and fear froze my ability to hate your words Like ice they stabbed through my silence and like fire they burned me from the inside I remember the clock going backwards and hair flying everywhere I remember the very breath that held your words, making it hard for me to breathe And the smell of blood Somewhere. Everywhere. Nowhere. I was still incapable of moving, but it was there Time was trapped inside mymind I\4inutes. Seconds. Hours. You move You fly You touch me IMMOBILE

We leave withyourarm around mywaist Pain, a rung out dishcloth, is down the drain Silence disintegrated And your cotton candy words melt on my tongue. The night is over.

--Jayme Troelstrup

I\4idwives

They were more preparedfor the birth Than I was.

They knew when my water broke.

Theylaid mybody on a wide red rug drawing backmyhair like a curtain, Ietting in the light

They put their hands upon meFingernails ran across my shoulderblades Traced patterns ofthe places, The shape of names. Theylaid down myhead as I broke.

Myankles slid back, and Myknees reached the sky.

Wet,l lookedabove me At the choices I had made. I\4yface twisted. Mybodyshook. Nothing more to do. So much moreto do.

"Breathe."

-Kate Benisek

rrsrt

Lu, through the hallway. Leaping over limbs, boxes and the hope people lost as they laid eyes on their marker. The door was open ahead of me. It creaked a crack as I began.to move towards it. One foot after another,'I thought as I warily crept closer. With every step taken images ran through my head. My mothers heartfelt face, the one that always made me laugh.Always made me feel an inner sanctity, knowing she's there forme.

The darkwalls around me ate at my confidence. Lined with a deep brown shade, theyplayed a dank, rigged tune on the situation.To the left sat a window.lt seemed to hold no purpose;through it I saw the courtyard.A rusty iron bench overhung by a halfdead willow.At one point it was probably a beautiful sight to behold. But now it was withered away and dry to the eyes.

Almost as the situation came to a pace, even and steady, a voice called to me. Cold, frigid and common. I knew who it was. The sound was all too familiar. Simon Veralis; third grader,lg79 with brown hair,ll fingers, green eyes and an unbreakable cigarette addiction. He had a walk to him. His left foot would always hit a split second afterhis right. He sounded like a horse, coming down the hall. Cla-Click, etc....

Music blasting, my heart was racing with the sound of the bass trembling. In sequence, the satanic mixture of screams and fades climaxed, then stopped.Abruptly, breathing no longer became an option. I couldnt run. I couldnt talk, or move, or think, or even function. On a dime, everything came to a screeching halt.

For everything my Iife was worth, I ran. Past the brown,blood-stained walls. The limbs and boxes scattered to imperfection alound me, and past the lost hope. As I sped off I tried to keep the scent in memory. Starchy pants, unwashed underarms, dirtyhair, dried blood, and torn flesh.

Away from fear, anxiety and trembling disgust. In myself I could feel the fear-rumbling, churning inside me. A last ditch effort at sanity. My surroundings were beginning to leave a mark; discolored and weak I lept. Breaking glass scarred my hands as I flew palms first, into the world.Through the window, out of reach of my fate.ltwas lined with darkgreen trim, reminding me of pea soup and how no one evereats itbecause of its smooth grainytexture on the roof ofyourmouth..

On my way out, I felt remorse. My life had gone so wrong. Also, on my third toe lay a newlybroken, beautifullyhandcrafted glass window.ltwas spectacular, lined with bubbles of age and mishap. It had wonderful mistaken strokes. The most beautiful stroke a hand ever rhade was that of an elegant unwanted thought. I'm offthe subject again.

I'm not sonry though. For loving people I wished I hadn't, I am sorry. For doing things in lust and heat of the moment. For saying words I had no right to say. I am sorry for not saying the right words at the right times, and for not saying anything at all. Thats what I'm most sorry for-----, Not saying anything. " 'These blank dialogue boxes aren't what I wanted for the possibility of new relationships.

'...the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn, bum, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles'

Inside everywritertheres a poet.l dontthinkitworks the otherway.

Three nights ago when all this happened I was at a low in my life. Living in a dark house, brown wallpaper and all. watching cheap porn and trying to get an idea to go on.'civilizations problems: drugs, violence, rape, murder, incest, GREED."' My publisher is a bitch of a man. Short, crooked beard with partially dyed black spots and a limp to add to his stutter. The only reason I hired him was for his connections. That brings me to GREED. This is such a heartfelt and discerning feeling. You see, as a result of my tumultuous writer's block and its bad timing, Chuck, my publisher, decided to send a few fellows around my way. His 'associates,'he might call them. Blatantly said, to beat a good novella out of me. Ifyou think about it, this is almost an impossible task,leading me to a point where I wouldjump out of windows to escape the two-fisted bandits charging up my stairs at three o'clockin the morning, in myhouse.l'm part of the BE BE BE BEAlgeneration and I dontknowwhyl have such problems with the unlawful.

--David Garrity

On the Knowledge of Forgotten Dreams

Slippery opal dreams glide past my outstretched fingers leaving swirling trails of translucent recollection to drip from myhands until theyare clear

A silverypath of the soapy substance follows me like an invisible river.

Theyare the Eurydice to myOrpheus swirling around myback under myfeet, unseen tauntingme

whispering fragrrients of my own forgotten secrets into myapathetic ears, beckoning me to face them only to disappear into the dark netherworld from whence theycame after allowing one tantalizing, shining glance.

-l\4eredith Mercer

Random thoughts on dreamingandyou

I wantto wake up and still keep dreaming

I want to Iive faster than this and still... still have time to watch shadows grow... snowflakes fall... uponyourface

I caught myself looking out a window staring atbranches moving in the wind thinking ofyou... nothing then mattered beside the spirit and its thoughts why cant everybody dream? Whydo theyhave to see in blackand white? The colorall around goes unnoticed butwe see it, we dreamers, we all thinkalike the similarities are frightening and most comforting

when they tell you youre crazy... its the mostwonderful thingyou could possibly hear I wont ever say thatyo ure crazy... just everything Ive everwanted or justbeautiful whenyou can walkalone on a wet Novembermorning, and still e4joythe waythe lightfilters through the clouds, to form ahazy davtn... you know more than theyeverwill

-Chris Vinyard

Herhands were old andgnarled.

They shook when her bony finger pointed at my awkward knees or limp arms. Her long wooden stickbanging against the floor, Keeping time as the ancient records skipped. She was like God to us. Our self-esteem rested on her sagging shoulders.

The studio was an alternate universe. Foggywith the smell of ouryoung sweat and built-up dreams. Classes ended spontaneously. It all depended on her mood. We were truly at herwhim. Our lives were put on hold everyday for as long as she wanted.

What made hertick?

She led such an amazinglife--

Dancing in Russia, dancing with stars, cultivating the talent of famous ballerinas. In the end itwas a handful ofyoung girls

Girls with little feet and big dreams, thatkepthergoing.

She could be mean and hurtful. Too single-minded and passionate to worry about ouryoung feelings. Too blunt, too erratic, Butso full of love.

Everythingthatl did

In our out of that studio revolved around her. How I ate, how I walked, what I wore, how I spoke. she gave me a piece of music and told me to make a dance forher. I danced to the scratched up record forhours Twirling, spinning over-and-over in my living room. My schoolwork neglected. Myfriends ignored. Onlyto go back, Shaking,hoping That shed like it, that it was good enough, And discovering shed forgotten.

The cards atherfuneral said that she lived to be 98. She always lied aboutherage.

We all knew that theywere wrong. She was over a century old and never told a soul. We stood togetheq, all of us in the same pew. Our feet turned out naturally, tears pouring down ourfaces.

Itwas the end of a chapterin ourlives. The woman who made us dance until ourfeetbled, Gave us ourfocus, ourpassion, United us, Had left us. We had loved her. Itwas sad,

But at the same time it was like a tremendous weight had been lifted offour shoulders.

At first we kept in touch. We each wentfrom studio to studio looking for a new second home.

We noticed how rude the girls were. She would have disciplined them, Made them wear their hair in a perfect bun. Refused to teach them. It all seemed so sloppy.

I don't miss the years I spent in that musty studio. I don't regret them either. I am who I am because of them. All hergirls are.

---Claire Orphan

Espoir

un contact, ettu as mon coeur.

c'est quelque chose queje ne peux pas expliquer. je sais queje vais penserbeaucoup de toi. tu vas etre dans mes reves, tous les soirs. tuvas me hantercomme un fantome. parce que tu me manques apres seulementune heure. je veux voir ton visage encore,je veux toucher ta peau encore. mais quand?

Hope

one touch, andyou have myheart. it's something I cannot explain. I know I'm going to thinkofyou a lot. youre goingto be in mydreams, everynight. youre going to haunt me Iike a ghost. because I missyou afteronlyan hour. I want to see your face again, I want to touch your skin again. butwhen?

-Meg Prossnitz

--Colleen Stockmann

Art rrr. no questions, I'll give you no short answers, you know the ones you hate. I dont want to think, feel, send messages to my limbs. I dont want stimulation from a good book or a kickin' song. I want to sit in peace and throw away time. I know I have work to do chapters to studypackets to read and numbers to punch. But Ijust want to do the best thing I can do rightnow. Sit.

Why are you crying? Wait, you're not crying let but I know tltat look that glazed-over, I-canstare-at-the-television-for-hours-and-not-really-see-anything look You usually tell me everything every non-important detail you can think of that entertains you, and in turn, entertains me I wantto hearyou laugfi, hearyou throwbackyourhead and shake as a large snicker pours into the room you are in. I want to hear you laugh because it hurts me to hear younotlaughing.

Ijust want to be sitting, not thinking,just existing.

Tellme,please. Howwasyourday? Fine.

cr0[t Groceries

Canned goods stacked

Like aluminum castles in the sky Topple into the darkrecesses of the cabinet

Like childrens building blocksButwith a less satisfying crash. Aluminum doesnt ping like it should When itgreets itself But dissapoints with a lackluster thud.

Bagged potatoes remind me of myself Dangly in sweats and Adidas In pursuit of a place to hide From mothers sigh.

"The cranberries have to be refigerated, theydon'tgo in the cabinetforGods sakel'

Arush of hotcarbon dioxide flutters her Bangs from her forehead, Reveals a lattice work of delicary around her eyes.

Ahalf-hearted sorry Mutters from lips

Just enough for her'What?'

To re-sting my eardrums. "l said,'lm sorry/,1 didntknow.'

On cue,l exitthe kitchen to escape. The whistling kettle, the furnace, Mom.

--Jasan Slack

Lonely

Flying over the damp streets, the spiritless wind had found this particular place to roam. The garbage bags shivered, fighting to stay in one resting place. The wind blew a water droplet off of the tip of the bag, down into the puddle, creating the only sound otherthan the constant wind.The ripples in the puddle shookthe image of the moon that reflected the faint light against the building walls. The moon was low in the sky still and its color had not turned to its bright white just yet. It was still a dim orange from the lingering rays of sunlight. It created a perfect mood for the people that might still want to be on the streets at that time, and the usual mood for the people that had no choice.

The gust slowed down to a breeze and found itself trailing the worn shoes of an unknown woman. The shoes were flopping around, almost to the point where she would step rightout of them soon.Anyone could tellthat their dark colorwas not the original one, but one that had developed over a very Iong period of time from walking the streets. The rest of her appearance rnirrored the one that came from the shoes: stains lingering in everyplace, holes formed from overuse, everything a few sizes too big because she had begun to lose weight some time ago'

Her eyes were the only two bright spots on her whole body. She almost always keptthem fixed on the ground, not making eye contact if she happened to pass by another onlooker on the street. She occasionally looked up, when she was sure no one was around, to see if she could fiyrd something that could help her make it through another day. But this night, her eyes were on the ground, not really focused on what was in front of her, but more on what was behind her.

I wantto go outthere and make decisions that I canhold myself accountable for. Not have everyone and anyone looking over my shoulder, criticizing my decisions, and dernanding explanation. Then, am I to be denounced by others if I should make the wrong choice,

She took a quick glance at her shoes, really noticing them stumbling up a curb. She had gotten sick of them Iong ago, but could not force herself to throw them away. Her head Iifted away from the shoes, but her mir.rd remained near them. The thought of where she r,vas, where God had supposedly placed her was too much for her to handle. Then again, itwas always too much: a constantweight, bearing down on her.ltforced her to stay in one place, kept her always hoping for something to rernove the rest of the world from around her, kept her thinking, kept her enjoying life. She looked far ahead down the block she was walking on and let her eyes unfocus and her thoughts settle into nothing.

AII anyone could see was the top of her head. They saw the sloppy part down the middle of her hair and the dark circles around her eyes, and people refused to take a second look. It had all become so much of a routine that she no longer stayed alert for more than thirty seconds after getting set up. The words coming out of her mouth repeated over and over, no Ionger having any meaning. She didn't even realizethat they onlytravelled a couple feetbefore turning into a long, soft-sounding murynur. Different people walked by every second, every minute, every hour, but all of their reactions stayed the same.lf there was a group of people, quiet comments were tossed around between them.lf a single person traveled by, a quickglare appeared, then faded awaywith the face.All of this went unnoticed becaus it made her stomach cringe to see the numerous people act offiende d, andshe chose to block out the injurious attacks. She caught the image of random hands that placed coins into a small box in front of her. Sometimes, the hands would remind her of her father, but his face was always absent from the picture. We worshippeople who make a lot of money no matterhowthey do it.We laugh and point at others who have problems, instead of trying to help them. This will never change because, out there, there are parents, bowing to society, partially destroying the wishes and dreams of their children. They try telling them that they're not being realistic or there is no fiiture for them if they choose something that they might enjoy. So don'tpush anythingonto me thatwill create anothermindless human being.

Crouching down, she let herself tumble onto a small mattress. One of the springs that had broken free from the inside left a sharp cut on her right forearm. She watched the blood slowly collect in a thin line across her arm before she began draggingit across the alreadyfilthyblanket. Propping herself up against the side of the brickbuilding and the cold dumpster next to her, she reached deep into her pants pocket, slowly searching around for the small gift she had bought for herself.

I'm at that time in my life, and I have been, where I know as much about most things as they do, yet still they dictate everything to me. And OURworld is so changing and differentfrom theirs that they don't know more than us, and that is the problem.

She held it up in front of her and gave a sad smile to it. It was the one thing that cheered her up, butyet the very thing that held her down. Her eyes then closed and she felt her arm clench up. She was used to the pain that the needle created by now but she never liked it. She only enjoyed the warm, soothing feeling that speared her entire bodywhen it was all done.

We're listening to people who claim and think they know better, but do not. Our parents will never stop They tell us what to do, how to do it, and when. They run our lives, giving us permission, granting us the ability to do things when it can be so much easier makingour own choices.

The last feeling that she felt was the urine streaming down her leg as all of the muscles in her body relaxed. As her heart stopped, her head slipped, falling to one side, her upper body following suit. She landed lightly, halfway off the mattress, head in the middle of a puddle.The wind picked up its pace, swirling round and round, making herhair scatter. She was being lifted, but attempted to stay in her place. The gale flew down the sides of the buildings up into the heavens with herfloating silentlybeside it.The intensity of the wind increased, seeming to scream through the darksky.

I'd rather do something else. I want to see the world, explore new things. I want to live mylife.

Big puopte talk about ideas, Little people talk about other people. And I feel aboutthiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis big right now. Ive been told these interchanges are intimidating and I thinkit's becauseTheirspeech is iconic. The diner is inhabited by Teenagers and smoke Theirstories are Their diction is Theirdeliveryis Iconic One after another after another References Recounts Reviews

Faster than it takes to pour sugar into coffee Andit'sgone. With all these ICONS its hard to get a WORD in Edgewise orotherwise. and the conversationjustwashes overyou like a currentin a river So I trynotto speakmuch. Onlygraspingthe twigs andleaves thatrush bythat are familiar enough forme to hold onto. Iconoclast or coward?

-Shane ONeill

--Markus Rutledge

Landlord

She builds temples with testosterone, And her tenants give her whiskey on the weekends'

And she drinks to the NewYear' Everyyear, And everyday.

Once I caughtherwith one ofhertenants They were riding a bicYcle. Together. Brandy had drowned them. And eventhough she could swim' She couldnottrack through cognac.

And so theyrode, Togetheratten sPeeds. Switching gears annuallY. Switching seats occasionallY' Submerged in sedatives sea.

Forthatreason she has no excuses. And probably no regrets.

-WillWalden

A-Z

Bound tightly by a beige cardboardframe

Holding within it mysteries

Of ink colored pages carrying life

You float carelessly through The core ofyour language Flying, seeing only skin-thin meaning Considering itvocabulary, work, a task

You see no beauty where it abounds Life, language, meaning.

--Jessica Shultes

I wake up before the traffic sounds on Washington Begin. Realizing I wont set foot Inmyroom

Until agood

Fifteen hours later.

Hypnotized on mywayto photo My'good'morning tea

Scorches the freY of mY Pants. And allows mytoes to feel it Squishing in myshoes Allmorning. Head into the darkroom. A dimmed andyellowed room That surprises me With its possibilities.

I emerge three hours later, now fully appreciating the brightness of the worldIts still earlier than most of my friends awake-

To head to work.

At the stationery store Where I getPaid

Forrunning errands

And helping people match ribbons And daydreaming out the front window Boredom sets in. Then I think about other things And the clock is no matter anymore.

I buy coffee from the person

Who always smiles atme And trekup the stairs

To the EL..

Where I head downtown

To this melting pot neighborhood

With plenty of new people & buildings to stare at And shootpictures of. The EI passengers the streetwalkers the carnavigators

AII push me To capture them orthe essence of them in a sign nearby. I reach the warehouse-building With the eye-shaped mural staring me in. Head up three flights of stairs

To the cubicle.

Where I feel fulfilled

Counting surveys

Creating flyers And observing the serenityof The woman working beside me.

Head on the EI again Exhausted

From not eating. But I feel good.

Ring the doorbell atthe blue duplex on Lathrop

To play & laugh & Paint

With a little girl

I've grown to love

As much as I didn't expectto.

Getpaid for an hour & a half of playtime. Spend that moneY on coffee.Again. Sittingwith mYfriends

As we overanalyze life

Until the caffeine wears down. I unlockmyfrontdoor

Run upstairs ShutmYown door

Andrealizethis is all I love And I didnt really want anY of it.

Photography taught me to Framemyworld

Thatthe Elhas oPened me to That myfriends & I drinktoo much coffee over That I constantlyhear, sing, play music in That myjob pays me forbeing a partof.

Yeah, it's all in the framing.

-Kate Seremek

11:30

The reckoning state between dreaming and reality

Surrounds me in its ethereal sway.

Darkness clouds my perception

As people disappear and resurface

In sporadic bursts of light.

Limbs, heads, bodies, voices, Separate and driftaway

Entering in and out of being.

Those around me are ullaware of the periodic Invisibility that overcomes them.

They do not see me staring, glassy eyed

Lips parted in disbelief

Baffled bythe misconceptions my own weariness causes Striving to decipher words from the muffled voices around me

Voices which emanate from detached lips, sometimes part of a greater whole

And other times completely alone, Eyes replaced by air, flesh by nothingness And always unaware of Their proximity to oblivion.

-Meredith Mercer

PeachPit

I had three peaches: they were flaming facades Hell-bent on incinerating each other, through me.

I was the ignition. But in a furnace of forethought, I had forgotten. That the wind ripens transgression in the winter. And theywhispered, united by their nectars, about my sabotage. Their flame was quickly extinguished. And I was exiledformytreason.

I had wished for peaches, and that is what I got I mayeatthem, as I hangfrom theirtree.

Each one of them laughs atme. Beacuse theyknow I cannot swallow with abroken neck.

-Will Walden

t_ Lhe city. splitting the darkness and replacing stars with hazypink you markthe point where skyand earth meet. you overcome(we dont know moonlight anymore) and shine the brightestin the night. streetlights guide the way (all roads lead into town) as our metropolitan bloodstreamthey provide the pathways from which none can be lost in the quasi-dark. --sarah spira

Immortal Love(Gaelic)

Bhithne dhom vair fear le gaol buan Gus an do thriall i airsgithan calmainvaith Nis bi fear abheath'bhvain a'sireadh a lvaidth Gach la'agus vair rr! na siorraidheachd 'S cha ddan e aon vair gun tig latha lvain A lamh chuir mun cvairt a lvaidh fhir-ghradhaich

Re fad a shaoghail cha ghabh e cothrom as ur Air te ur bhi ri thaobh, seadh, gaol dileas dha 'S ged tha sgaradh cruaidh ga cuir saoghal farsaing vaith

Bi a goal domhainn buan na chridh comhnaichte Ged dh fhiach e gu cruaidh may aW fearr anns gach vair Tha e siubahl an t-saoghail ann an aonarachd

Och!a charaid mo ruin, nuaira lorgas tu gaol Na leig i air falbh air sgiath calmain uat.

Immortal Love(English)

I once knew amanwith an immortallove Until she flew away on the wings of a dove Nowthis man of immortality Will search forhis love throughout eternity

The one thing this man will never do Is hold in his arms that love so true For the rest of his life he will not take a chance To find love, anothertrue yomance

Even though they are worlds apart He will always cayyy herlove deep within his heart Though he tried, he did his best

He walks this world embraced by loneliness AIas, my friend, when you find true love Don't let her fly away on the wings of a dove.

---DarrylKeith Gentry

Rebel Love:A Haiku

Being stupid is the best way that I know how to relate to you --Anna Schwartz

--Jane Ryder

In l\Aotion

Blurred my vision

We pace the world without step

Bound without regard.

"ZacScrlbner

-Bill A4adden

N4etropolis

the fungus skyfills with spicy& cockysmokes acidic rains smackthe buildings till they melt down to an oozing river and I see a fish, moving through the river with one eye and curved back. gaunt and deformed with anger! but night after night,like a child's crying we drift to the thick, mute center of the noise our ears open only to hear ourselves speak. our hands extend only to buy some fresh oxygen for tomorrow.

-LucyDivis

lVlyentire life myparents always told me to question everything.l guess they thought if I didnt I would go through life doing what otherpeople wanted me to do.And isnt life all about doing what you want. Anyway, with this 'Question everything" attitude I lost confidence and an overall faith in people in general.l was never certain about a damn thing. From this stemmed a deep-rooted paranoia. This paranoia proved to be the one thing I needed to fall back on.

When I was in high school I stayed out of trouble. Not because I didllt do stupid things, it was because I never did them in a stupid way. I worried constantly that police might catch me with my friends, binge drinking or smoking some pot. That fear kept me in line for the most part. My big problem in high school was not what I did while I was there, rather it was dragging myself to school.l had the hardest time trying to swallow the crap they force fed us. Not that what they taught us wasn't true, its that what they taught us wasnt relevant to me aj all. When the hell would it be necessary to know what x equals? I alreadyhad my life planned out. Live on the road, work oddjobs when I had to, and discover myself. The plan seemed simple enough;ljusthad to getthrough high school. When I went to school I never showed much interest. Nothing there seemed real to me. The teachers taught only what the state mandated, and the students listened only to what would be on the test. The hallways I walked down were always so dark. The lack of lighting kept peoples faces from showing their personality. Nobody saw the expression on my face and I never saw his or hers. I would not have wanted it any other way. In a building where everybodyhears and tells everything about everyone, few people even knew my name. None of them knew what I was capable of Itwas a drearyMondaymorning.The sun was hesitantto breakthrough the clouds. I wondered if itwantedto shed light on whatwas below.The nighthides so manyof lifes imperfections. During the daypeople spend hours hiding these characteristics.At night the darkness performs this taskfor them, freeing people, allowing each individual to be oneself. But school was the task at hand this Monday. After a week of attending school I felt I deserved a break. My parents disagreed. I forced myself out the door and to my car. I was ready to drive,just not to school.

I believed in the goals of high school: to prepare kids with the basic skills needed to avoid falling into he trap of crime as a means to support oneself. I already acquired these skills and was ready to apply them. I could no longer put up with a backwards system that prevented people frorn learning and discouraged individuals from gaining knowledge on their own. When the wheels on my car started rolling, they were headed in the direction of school.

I had no desire to go to school that daybut something drew me to the building. I grabbed my hitter and packed up something to get me through the school morning. I knew if I could make it to lunch I could get through the day. On my way to school I noticed emptiness on the road. Was I late? It was B:02, I would only be a couple of minutes late. But when I walked to the doors of the school I saw an old teacher of mine, distressed, leaving the building. I knew some teachers ducked out of work early but we were not even five minutes into first period. This teacher and his actions seemed out of place. I had to inquire.

Normally I avoided confrontation with individuals in this state of mind but I felt I had to know what was wrong. As he stormed out of the school I followed, asking him what was wrong. He said he couldn't take it as he continued walking. Couldnt take what? I tried to talk to him but he would not stop walking. I then walked beside determined to find the origin of his distress.

He said the system was all f"ed up. The kids don't want to learn. I can't teach what I want to because it wasn't approved. None of the other teachers even seem to care anymore. It makes no difference to them if these kids get an education. Sevenyears fourteen days and six hours and I can retire benefits and all. It makes me sick. I could not have agreed with this teacher any more than I did. But I felt there was "no need o ass fuel to the fire'by adding my sayin the matter. Despite being distraught overthe educational system this teacherwalked with an arrogant confidence.As if he made a difference.

Then, in a sudden burst, it hit me. Like the shrapnel that fell to my feet, he did make a difference. Hhe did the one thing so many high school students only dreamed of. . He blew up the school.And there I was, walking stride for stride with a formermentor of mine.We walked down the street as if I was his accomplice.Thats whetr he told me thathe got the idea to blow up the school from me. A discourse on the flaws in the public school system had nroved him that much. He pulled out a worn out copy of the lraper I wrote forhim sophomore year at that instant the police pulled in front of us. Despite the fear I should have felt, the only things that came to my head were the flaws in the judicial system.

-'Josh Davis

--Alison Pepper

Longing for the sky

The skystabs mycenter

And Ieaves me lying in wonder Howdidshe capture me? Rapture soaks me through.

Freezing skywarm with love Torn apart, arranged again She makes me different Shakes me up inside

In her car at night Farawayfrom the rest I feel itstronglyhere, Mylongingforthe sky.

:S.Manders

Pink Plastic Girl

She drank her magic potion that sparkled love behind her eyes, seduction behind her lies, and need between herthighs.

She swallowed pain from a bottle that burned herthroat. She kept her eyes shut to the floating worlds and busy questions. But she moved herbody to the numbing beat so beautifully she seemed to float with the music.

Spinning my eyes, my mind,and my thoughts. She sucked deeplyfrom a cigarette marked l\4arlboro, and the smoke encased herbody like glass.

And I watch this beauty queen start to disintegrate,like ashes in the wind, like time. And some time between locked eyes and locked hips:l slept. Ayrd I dreamt of vibrant oranges and electric blues, And these girls:these burnt orange and basic blue girls. I almost knew her last nlght, but the sparkles were gone by morning.

--Jayne Troelstrup

--Colleen Stockmann

Se qre nuestros ojosjuntos han estado encontrado por unmomento talvez secreto bailando los ojos no pueden mentir ellos no saben como la primera cameradel hombre grab ando el verdad visual pero la mente tiene potencias magicas manipulando con la inteligen cia, fuetza,autoridad posibilmente nunca teniamos ese baile un solo, acaso o talvez estuve confundido porlos parpadeos de la tristeza todavia cuando cierro mis ojos cuando hago que mi mente flota en el aire te olvide de que no me amas olvide de que soysolo yyo me termina de preguntarporqud porque mis dos mundos no pueden chocar porque no podemos estar con mis ojos abiertos

pero Miedo come mis palabras anted de que mi boca puede empujarlas afuera antes de que puedan acariciar sus oidos sus oidos tan tontos cudles todavia no pueden entender mis pensamientos sordo, pero no ciego quizAun cierto dia el baile que nuestros ojos hagan sea basante para expresando lo que Miedo comeylos oidos no indentifican un dia pero hoyusted es solamente el muchacho que agarrami mano mientras que vuelo lejos de aqui

I kno*orreyes have been together meetingfora moment maybe in a secret dancing eyes cannot lie theydo notknowhowto man's first camera recordingvisual truth but the mind has magical powers manipulating with intelligence, force, authority so maybe we neverhad that dance a solo,perhaps maybe i wasjust confused byflickers of sadness still when i close myeyes when i make my mind float away i forgetthatyou do notlove me iforgetthat iamalone and i stop askingwhy why my two worlds cant collide whywe cannotbe with myeyes open

but Feareats mywords before mymouth canpush them out before they can caress your ears your silly, silly ears which still cant understand my thoughts deaf but notblind maybe someday that dance that oureyes do will be enough expressing what Fear consumes and ears do not identify one day but todayyou arejust the boywho holds myhand as i flyaway -Vanessa Conway

walk straight.

allyou have to do is walk straight take a pass on distractions with tunnelvision just don't ask questions and forget about looking for answers everget the feelingyou dont belong? don't worry, everyone does somejust hide it better we're alllost in sorne way so don't be ashamed and try not to walk straight go offcourse and enjoy it dirtyyourshoes with the unbeaten path

get distracted! buy some 3D glasses every diversion is a second chance so don't leave that prettyface behind every day could be your last

Question what isn't right andyou'll find outwhy youll feel betterfor it you mightjust find yourself andrealize that everyone belongs --Chris Vinyard

Heidi Galasek

he thinks poetry and staring into his eyes hard he neverletgo i wasnt about to either. write itdown i said take me withyou i meant outinto the night wherewe could make a connection share a secret andyou would holdme i would feel safe again

then your eyes Pulled away those smiling eYes mixedwithPain amusement andwonder howcouldwe figure ourselves out this quick write itdown i said love me good i meant.

--Alison Mizen

illusion

You hurt me but I--Breaking the cycle of life--I can forgive you.

--Vanessa Conway

--Matt I\4aenpaa

I\4artian [4agnif,ring Glas s

Swiftly spinning plates whirl around weavingglass and claws into one indestructable exoskeleton the largest arachnid man has ever built

Likeamantislpraythat I won't ever see the day this creature emerges from its cocooll.

Millions of machines in progress and still theysayitwill takeyears before it can weave its web to catch the meteors.

-Michelle Floodstrand

Rocking with the motion of the train, I sit. Wishing for calmness. I don't know why I am always so uncomfortable on the train. I know I am not going to get attacked, and even if I do I have this handy dandy whistle on my keychain. I really do have faith that it will save my life one day;but if I cant reach it in time--l'lljust go for the eyes. Blind them just long enough to run. I'm not really afraid of getting attacked or raped or anything like that. Thats the international mom worry--l am more afraid of peoples thoughts. Well mostly not being able to read people or their thoughts. It scares me--not knowing. I don't know why;why I care what the seven people on this suffocating train think of me. Its not like they even know me. I have never even said a word to any one of them, sojudging me already wouldjust show their own vain nature. Allowing first appearances to classify me into stereotypes of what I must be like. Still, I want to go up to each one and say,'Hi. I'm Selia."And then askthem sixty-fourquestions aboutwhat they think is my favorite: vegetable (celery), color (the offspring of wheat and yellow chalk), instrument (harpsichord), form of adhesive (double sided carpet tape), postImpressionistic artist(Matisse). I wantto see if theycould guess mynationalities (Greek, Arabian, and,Z%Dutch), or my religion (Unitarian), or what mypolitical party is (what arepolitics?). Iwanttoknowhowmuch of myinnerness oozesout. Andwhoelsecould tell me, but these seven perfect strangers who really don't give a flying noodle about me or anyone else on this train. Now that is something that has always interested me. The many, incredibly creative ways that we invent to avoid connecting with the people that we come into contactwith.

The seven of us have been on this train fortwo stops--no one has gotton on and no one has gotten off-- still, not one of us has even tried to make our eyes meet with one another. Are there train riding laws that I am oblivious to? The three suits sit together bythe doorbythe door, readyto make a quickexlt,l suppose. Suit*1 (probablya lawyer) is reading the Wall Street Journal or some other type of no fun, no color, strictly business papers. Suit *2(probably some kind otjob where she could focus on otherpeoples problems--like a social worker) is staring out the window relaxing her mind as the blur of life passes by without her.

Suit *3(probably a vice-principal at sorne over-priced, under-funded parochial gracic school) has been leafing through an endless pile of papers. He is the worst dressed of the thrce professional people;wrinkled, dim and mismatched. Like he woke up and put on the first things his hands could grab. I wonder--too detached to care or too passionate to bother? I bet Suit #l goes into Bloomingdales twice a year (spring and fall) to get all his clothes for thatseason. Heprobablyhassomeeageremployeepickoutallhisoutfits,whichhewill then take home to wear without ever mingling the pieces. Too vain to trouble or too frightened to choose? Suit +2 is the only one who looks comfortable in her suit, balanced. Her clashing gym shoes only complete the ensemble. The ideal woman on the go. But then I wonder what she is leaving? What it really is that she lets pass her by. So is she too powerful to change or too emptyto remember?

On the other end of the train, we have the youth of America. A perfect reflection of all that still hears hope in the rain and smiles with more thanjust their lips. The lovely piece of artwork, her pink dreads dance atop her head like worms overflowing in a bucket. Nature's beauty in mans hand. The daughter of two suits (numbers unknown), Dread Head sits with her knees tucked under her arms. She is picking offher metallic marrooyr nail polish. This she thinks, makes her look more rugged; rlor€ hip. The two suits live through Dread Head, probably wishing they could be as rebellious as their daughter, so strong and unique. Its odd because I think of her friends and I think of Warhols soup cans. All carbon copies oithe other. Three benches away, riding the train backwards, Head Phones has fallen asleep. Baggy and bright, his clothes drape him like a blanket. He looks younger than he probably is. Peaceful. Still, I wonder if hes asleep. Maybe his eyes arejust closed. And maybe hes not listening to music;but to the safe,lonely, dependable sound of dead air. Hear no evil, see no evil. One seat directly behind him, the girlwho would be my mirror image (probably on the way to the home that never really feels like home) is looking up at all those discolored posters hanging above our heads. The hollow motivational messages that bring false home in not one-but two languages. I tried to call one of those abuse hotlines a year or two ago. Not because I needed help, but because I thought I could volunteer or something. But when I called Ijust got one of those recordings. It turns out that the telephone company doesnt even have a record of the company or the number.

crr$t

And then back on the side of the suits, there is the shadow of a man. Curled up in a ball, frayed and fallen, he will probably ride the train to wherever it will take him. Who knowshowlonghesbeenhere. Whoknowswherehewillgo. Lost. Forgotten. Iamnotsure ifhesawakeorifhesasleep. Isortawanttogivehimablanketandcupofcoffee,anythingto lethim knowhe isnt reallyalone. Shadow's the type of guyyou wantto help, mostlybecause he doesn't askyou to. He, like the other five, have not lifted their eyes from their fixed position.

The seven ofus have been togetherforfive stops-no one has gotten on, no one has gotten off-still, not one of us has tried to make our eyes meet with anothers. Then I see two figures rush to the entrance of my car,just in time to get inside before the doors shutfor good. A citrusy, way too strong, almost fake scent enters the train with them. You could see the half peeled orange in herhand. She was ripping off the skin as she walked to the furthest seat from the door,letting the pieces fall to the floor. Like a flower girl in a wedding or like Hansel and Gretel. I wondered what it was that she didn't want to get lost from. I was afraid that somejanitor might take away her trail and she would never find her way back. But I am not even sure if trains havejanitors.

I didnt like them from the start. Neither was welcome. She not only took away my world, but she threw her garbage in it like it was hers to ruin. It was such a careless thing to do--such a youthful thing to do. I looked at her weathered skin and her blue scrubs that seemed to have been washed too many times. She looked worn in, faded. Not necessarily young, but too old to not put garbage in the trash.

I wanted her to go away, someplace else--to a different car maybe. I was always afraid to switch cars while the train ws moving,like I would be sucked out from the train. Still I thought she should do it. I wasn't gonna move. This was my train. I\4y suits, my shadow, my wasteful youth. I wasn't gonna let her take that away from me, yet she didn't even notice me. Travelling in her own little world:absorbed, unaware, ignorant. They were the type of people who got noticed, because they never bothered to notice anyone else. She is feeding my desire to pick up the pieces of that orange and throw them at her. Shes loud;telling her family stories, thinking shes funny. No one cares about her family or her brat of a son.

She tells her friend about how the only clothes he wants for Christmas must be name brand. Herfriend let out a personalitylaugh. Pure evilness. (Personalitylaughs always catch you offguard, so your truth comes out in the laugh.) There is a crazy man who comes out in mine.

I felt rude. I wasn't sure if she could tell I was staring. I was trying not to. But I just couldn't look away. I was imagining her whole life;her past, her future, her old and drunk Uncle Stanley, her indepented (or spoiled) son. He was five years old last October. She turned twenty-two in December. A mother at sixteen. I din't have any right even to listen to her words, but that didllt stop me. It bothered me that she was the one person in my train that I was connecting with. We never made eye contact.

She pulls a little glass bottle out of her deep black bag and sprays herself with it. I want to scream, run over and grab the bottle and throw it as hard as I can against the side of the wall. Instead, I just sit here and listen to her and her friend (who has not regained laugh consciousness) go on about this imported perfume (and I know it was really bought at some kind of quality store like Wal-Mart or Super K-Mart). I don't know what my nose will do if it has to sniffanother of her scents. This scent eventually floats myway.lts not a bad smell, actuallypretty. Delicate. Reminding me of the flowergirl again. I wanted to talk to her, go over and. .be noticed, but my mouth didn't open and mymind didn'tgive me anythingto say. And so I wait,thinking. Listeningwhile my mirror image tells her she likes the perfume. She doesn't acknowledge l\4irror Image at first. So, she asked Her what the name of it was. Its called Angelness and its about a hundred bucks at Marshall Fields, but she knows a guy who went to i\4exico to get it so it only cost her thirty-two dollars. Mirror Image feigns interest and then asks her if she can sample a spray. All eight people turn to look at my Mirror Image. Its the only time that everyone has lefttheirown lonelyworlds and paid attention to whatwas going on around them. I think that my Mirror Image broke a rule, but I am not sure which one. I don't even knowthe rules. She looked Mirrorlmage in the eye for eightferocious seconds, before handing her the small translucent bottle.

--Vanessa Conway

--Anna Schwartz

Blue Note

Wooden planks creaked above an emptyhead

Steadysteps of shoes tumbled inside BIue notes fall out of my ears And shatter across asizzlingfloor

Rubbersouls tap slap and clap in sets atwos

Eyes can see the music swirl and

Eyes can see the rhythm burning in the corner

To ash

Doors slam open and the Devil comes in on dancing shoes I take his pawas we shimmy downthe hall down the stairs and Out the hot back door --Jane Ryder

I Loved You Once In Silence

I have a secret I keptfromyou Since day one until now. Words that fear chained down In the walls of myheart.

Three years in silence I rocked myself to sleep Singing melodies ofwished on stars lnmy heart strings. Soaking up mytears With ridiculous lies And shaky assurance. Kissing the rain To bring you closer to me. Running mazes to keep me From bleeding green jealousy Out of mylips.

Pullingmyhands down, Awayfromyours, And your soft gentle lips. Playing make believe Behind myeye lids, Only opening them to find I\4y hands grasping air. Beating desire into Shreads of dreams. Whispering the truth

ln my mind, Prayingyou'll hear it. Writing, painting, singing, The storyof myheart. Wishing every night You'llstop and listen And hear my heart with yours. Only to wake up each day Knowingyou won't. Threeyears, waiting, Cutting my sentences up To save our friendship. But most importantly, To save you. You're listening now And I have the strength To tell you my secret. But funny things happen Whenyou wait.

i\4y friend, I kvrow Your heart will never beat with mine. And now after swallowing silence, Beating mywords down, I have slowlyfallen. Too late to save. This secret I keep

cr0[t

Nowholds no truth to the present. But myheartwill burn

If the thousands of stories

Nevergetread.

If I never get to tell you, Thatyou meant more to me Than the nights and days that I lived. That every song, Every breath Everyword Every story Every tear Was foryou. That once, You were the world to someone. Thatl lovedyou Once in silence. --Kate Mlerrick

--Jenny Goldstein

Interlude

Pictures show proof that we existed Iong awkward arms seem detached from theirframe a momentstolen inwhich Ileaned back and found you small,slim but still biggerthan me in miles and miles of land stretching on forever two points met crossing lives fora brief interlude that day, the picture hides in myheart green and leatherbound our smiles white and crooked our eyes frozen

-Anna Schwartz

Song of Broken Hearts

I see past the chairs, The checkers, The soil And day. Listening to The same song Overand over And over. 'Whenyou dream, Whatdoyou dream About?" Aromas of coffee, Of spikes and razors And fences and lines, Forgetfulness... Through keyholes And doorways, Dust settles, Tears dry, Woundsheal,

Nothing to mourn. Slowingdown now Wishes diminishing, And my mind drifts... "Whenyou dream, Whatdoyou dream About?" Pinkto black Yellowto brown, And God becomes spirits. Its alldying, Pulses slowing, Memories I'll learn To ignore. And we all driftaway... Awayfrom here. I dream aboutyou.

--Cristina Kennington

Dazzle ltfie

Delicate heart Wake me from mysleep

You are the poison of my eternity Surrounding me in smoke

Yet I embrace it Soft as velvet Dazzleme --Laura Klein

Lost

When I'm hurt And allalone, I take a lookat myself As shadows begin to fall, All I see Is a darkened reflection In a mirror that tells all.

When I'm afraid andvulnerable I tryto understand Just who and what I am As shadows begin to fall All I learn is confusion, From a bookthat tells all.

--NOroza

I\4indwanderings No. 1 or Crazy

Sitting, staring outthe window

Thebreeze carries a hotmadness with it

It sweeps across myface

Sitting, staring into forever Wondering if anythingwill everbe the same Things change. Sometimes they change too quickly

Brush offthe madness like a speckof dust I've gottoo much madness of my own

Am I really crazythouglt? Amlcrazy from whats happened to me?

Crazy for what I've done? Crazyfor caring so much? Or crazyforpretending I dont?

Birds sing trilling sorlgs in the trees outside

So what if l'm crazy. Thats who I am,right?

Books stare at me from their shelves

Spines worn, well loved and many times read An acoustic guitarplays in the background I'm not cYazy,though. I'mjust me.

Thebreezeis lightand cool on myskin

I pick out a book from the shelf and begin to read

--MattMaenpaa

That 7th dayAdventist girl was gorgeous. The one I met beneath the colored lights at2inthe morning, in the shivering cold.

She spoke to me through pure carmel lips on a milksmooth face, on top of which sat short darkchocolate hair. Buthereyes were frozenlake water. I'm prettysure she came from Romania orsome other eastern European country where they carve girls out of ivory. Forsome reason all the stories she told me had to do with cars. The crash she was in ayearbefore the concussion and how they all thought she was dead in a coma neara ditch.

How she was stopped by an officer in Brookfield who because ofherface didnt give her a ticket for.speeding or maruuana possessron.

Of course the accentprobablyhelped too. I can imagine now how her smokyvoice mustve feigned innocence.

-Michelle Floodstrand

Flyrng

A translucent crescent moon shone out that night god chose to save the life of a child. And even in the early evening the moon was bright as 1000 days of sunshine and god concentrated this powerto cradle the souls of those in need until he could come forthem. With all the noise poverty and ugliness of the moment one couldn't help but notice it, pressed against the sky it crocheted a slightyellow hue to mix andformwhat could only be described as"the aqua blue of dreams'and of hope in the next life because hope in the people here"had crumbled out of existence." It was the kind of night the people'could dream af if they weren't afraid to close their eyes at night."12 stories above stood a frail girl of tg with epic proportions. Her eyes vacant.Victims of the'slick-handed pickpockets of the spirit"her mother had mercilessly subjected her to. Her head was a tattered neglected jungle of strands.This was to be farfrom death. She was to be reborn to a bettermother, in a better home, living the life she deserved to live; not the life of a wooden nickel to be passed around to fuel her mothers dependency, told she was real but knowing she was artificial to herholder. She was tired of the lies.The countless muffled grunts of faceless bodies. She had no hope left. She realizedthere was to be no end to herpain. Herembarrassment. At td she was sure as hell sick of that one last time. She wanted love. The complete Iove of a soul mate.Thats it. She wanted to be completed. She wanted a companion. She had only caught a glimpse of this feeding the gulls in the gated hell affectionately referred to as Lakeland that she was permitted to enterwhen she wasntworking for Satan himself. She had realizedthe day she drove out of hell and into the artificial Messiah of white linen clad heifers that El Diablo wore yellow, was a hand-on learner, and needed to take a comb to thathead.As she stood on the threshold between emptiness and eternal bliss something gave her the will to soar on the breeze. She let go of her burdens, stuffed her sorrys in a sack, and for that split second she realized that heaven wasn't some mythical place. Heaven was right here with her. Allowing her to soar half way to eternity and backpressed againstthe aquamarine abyss of the Chicago sky.Then suddenlythere was darkness.

-Mathieu Brown Sections in quotes taken from OnlvTwice I've wished for Heaven by Dawn Turner Trice

A Love Supreme

His heart knew everything that his mind didnt. Well, then again his subconscious just didn't allow him to. Johnny Coltrane Iay nervously on his king size bed. The covers were stretched across with no purpose. John would never make up his bed;he though it was the mostboring and tedious chore of all. His remembrances of days past begin with a vision of him making his bedyears ago.

It must have been some time ago. He cor"rldn't have been more than twelve at the time. It was simple and easy for him then. He approached bed-making as a daily chore, almost a matter of pride. Where was his pride now? It certainly didn't show itself in the wrinkled and twisted covers he lay on today. He smiled at the image of the young boy who did daily chores such as fixing bed sheets.John began to think of the dangerous situation he was in at the present moment.

His face was presse dhard into the cushiony bed. He looked like a lazy fat man who had given up on doing push-ups. His heart felt as if it was pounding even harder at the image of his face pressed into the bed. He began to think of howvulnerable he was right now. He could actually suffocate with his head so hard against the bed. N4aybe he wouldn't get enough air and would start to cough violently. John knew he must do something quickly. It was only a matter of time before his lazir, ess would catch up with him and make him pay. The cost right now was life and death. "Take your head out of the covers, John, oryou're going to suffocate yourself." John lay there for another minute. All of a sudden he violently pulled his head offthe bed

It started to smell strange in the room. John knew the smell from some other time in the past. John knew this couldn't be a good sign. Why had it smelt strange everywhere for the past hour? It was more than a lingering smell. The smell was hot on Johns track, and it went everywhere he went. Only time could tell how long the smell would continue to follow him."Johngo washyourface offand put onyourglasses.'John proceeded on with his next assignment. he got out of bed and walked towards the old bathroom which was ten steps away.

His heart was still pounding very fast. He needed to wash his face. John bent down over his sink and turned on the cold water faucet. He soaked his face with the water several times. The water had little feeling to him. He splashed it on his face again,just to check if it was real. The water felt unreal but his reflection in the mirrorjustified it as real. He looked around at al of the miscellaneous toiletries.

Toothpaste, shampoo, conditioners, soap, yazoy, mouthwash, curlers, combs, picks, and lots of other stuff John thought of how good the mouthwash would be. He wouldnt have to do any complex brushing,just swirling and spitting. This was very appealing to him. The bottle was a tallone literof mintyblue equate mouthwash. Itwas almostpretend blue in color. Just before John could grab the bottle he heard,'John,leave the bottle alone. Ifyou swallow mouthwash you will probably die.'John quickly pulled his hand back and moved towards the bath towel hanging on the door. He grabbedthe towel and wiped offhis face. To his surprise, the towel was much like the cold water he had used. It didnt'have its usual scratchiness. So John looked in the mirror to see if his face was dirty.

The piano played on, the tenor sax scratched noises of desperate need for help. The bass pounded to Johns heart rate. The song of four parts was on track for completion. The sax played and played desperately in efforts no to die out. The piano had already quit and the bass was still going lightly. Once the drums entered, the song was over. The drums ended it with a powerful kick.

--Niels Gudell

Beehive

So get this, It4s. Marcia walked into the room eyes bright underneath herheavy mascara and thick eyeliner. Her hair brown in that old-fashioned bob, with honey highlights. She had her ways. And her smell-Trailer Trash by an imitation Gucci. She held her head high, regal like, and tried to act sophisticated. She reallywasn't though. Sophisticated.lf she was she wouldn't have chosen LaBelles Hair Studio. Not that we're not quality, oh no, quite the contrary, itsjust that we ain't all that and a bag of chips, you know what Im saying? So she comes in right, and she hangs up her coat and ya da,yada,yada, and I know what I'm in for. See I\4s. Marcia was quite peticular about her hair, she always brought pictures from those hairstyle magazines, you know the ones that have all the women with their big hair hats and ratted part, eighties like. Shed say"l want it like this picture combined with this picture, but with out the bangs or the hair in front and if you couldjust change the length to be about two inches longer than whats shown? Thanks hun, you're a doll."Thats alright though, I weren't to bicker with Ms. Marcia cuz she got me all caught up on my gossip. She was my link in the grapevine, ifyou know what I'm saying. She was the first to tell me that Gwenyth Paltrow and Brad Pitt broke it off But besides the Hollywood schmo ozing,she gave me the town dirt, too. Shed rush in and eyes smilin g, andbefore she fully had her booty in the chair shed be saying."Oh honey,l had to tellyou what I heard from Jennyyesterdayafternoon.l\4rs. Winebecker went offwith her sisters fiancee and left her husband standing in the supermarket with a bottle of milk in one hand and a sixpack of beerin the other.'Yeah, she was the first one to tell me that one too. So I like Ms.l\4arcias visits, for entertainment purposes and all. But today when she walked in, oh no sir, it was a different occasion. She was more serious like, more mystery in her ways. I could tell I might have to milk her to get the juice out. Shesatdowninmychairandwastookingupmyscissorsabouttoclipwhenshefinally started to open her gab. She starts it up by talking about how Suzie and Dianne were yakking when Suzies son Daniel comes in and asks where babies come from.Yeah thats cute and all, but come on honey, that is no math for her usual gossip.

I start my clipping, and shes quiet like and I start debating whether I'm gonna give her a few extra snips here and there to get revenge on her bad attitude. Then she opens hermouth real slow and I go,"Whats wrong? I\4arcia, ain'tyou gonna share whats ol,ryour mind?' Real caring , cuzl do care, I care about dishing it outta her. Then she tells me. She goes,"Well, I know I tell you everything, but has anyone ever told you they were having fantasies?"And I go,"Well, I don't recall nobody saying such a outburst--why Ms. Marcia, whose having dirty dreams?"And she throws her eyes to the ground all angel like, but she sure as hell don't look like no angel right then. 'Well, honey if you must know its me whos been having those dirty dreams."At this point I want to let my knees buckle with the laughter I want to cry out but I just gasp and real authority-and say,"l've done my reading honey, and I know that those fantasies is more common than you think. Dont necessarilyl mean anything."And get this; she actually looks relieved that I said that. Like my opinion counts for something.Thats why Ive taken a liking to Ms. Marcia. I know I stand on the same ground as her,ya know? So then she smiles timidly, and agrees it mustbe nothing and then she goes backto being all somher like. Like she is whizzedand is trying to keep her cool. Poor thing, her and I\4r. Menbar have been married over sixyears not. Thats more time than I like to keep my ketchup in the fridge. So I know she must be feeling the guilt. I try to make her feel better, I start telling her about our new manicurist and how shes got to come try her out. But Ms. A4arcias lost her cheer for the day. So she leaves all sullen-like and I make a resolution that I will call I\4s. Marcia tomorrowjust to say my his. I watch her leave and sayhi to Fred who is sitting in the shade outfront, watching cars drive byl reckon. I take a look on my schedule and I see Henry Menbar's appointment is right after my cigarette break.l never did take a liking to I\4s.I\4arcias hitch. When he stumbles in he smells like boozeand cigars and his hairis in need of some good snipers and pomade to keep it down nice and slick. And I know not to get in the middle of nothing so I ain't planning on saying a word, but he sits down and I see the bags under his eyes and I say," Why I\4r. I\4enbar, you Iook like you was planningon taking a long vacation with those bags you got weighing you dowlt underyour eyes Iike that."And he tells me to 'Trim it up.lts been a rough week."

Just like that, and I was thinking hes being mighty fine rude to an innocent hair stylist like me, but I decide rather than we both get hush on each other I just rather ask him whats wrong. So I do, real refined, kinda like Audrey Hepburn style. I say,'Why whatever could be bothering you Mr. Menbar?'And by Hallelujah you will never guess the story he starts telling me. He goes, " Well, Marcias been acting strange around the house'. .and I was just about to say that I saw her and know the scandal why. And then, get this, he says in his husky voice that aint sexy only to the ladies that dont know no better, he says, 'l think she knows I ve been fooling around with Patricia.'l was speechless, me speechless! Not a word could come out of my mouth, I had to pick myjaw up from the floor, right?'So I just stare at his reflection in the mirror and I'm thinking how awful a man he is, and Im telling the Devil he will have company down in his hell-hole pretty soon because I was just about plotting how to get rid of Mr. Menbar, if you know what I mean. Then I hear this gasp in the background, and I'm scared to turn around.And sure enough, Ms. Marcia be standing in the doorway, a tear rtrnning down her cheek all movielike. Ya see, Ms.I\4arcia had her head in the clouds when she walked out, and couldnt see that she left her purse. Andjust imagine, little ole me standing in the middle of this, I was the only one who knew everything that was goingon. I dont know what to do, and I sure as hell aintgetting involved, so I take a seat in the coloring chairs with the big astronaut bubble on top, you know what I'm talking about? yeah, I sit there and watch....Like I'm watching a movie orsomething onlyten times betterbecause I have front row seats and I dont have to crane my neck. I'm feeling for poor Ms. Marcia, she moves and it seems like its in slow motion because the room is so silent and still. Ms. I\4arcia walks over to him and she stares him down,like in a bad western, and at this point myhead is going cyazylike and Im saying, you give him a talking to Ms. Marcia, more than a talking to. You grabhim byhis earand kickhim to the dirt. Lets branda sign on his forehead thatwarns the real women to stayaway."All in myhead.

But shejust stares him down and then she throws her shoulders backand she thrusts her head forward and she spits in Henry Menbars face.And I dont got nothing to say; Ijust start my clapping. Then she turns and storms out and Mr. I\4enbar stands there like a sorry dog, and then he looks at me and I think he decides he best leave before I spit in his face too. So they step out the door and turn their separate ways and I start to wondering whats going to come of their sixyears of marriage. But then I stop thinking'bout thatcuz I gotta start thinking about who will be the first to know For once, I am at the top of the gossip chain. First-hand information.

-Cara Mikelsons

Clear 50's lVlemories of Dad and I

Every Sunday;l struggled,tryingto pay attention to the singers singing and the pastor preaching.

Waiting eagerlyfor what always came afterwards. Watching the tick-tock of the clock; glancing over at His patient, perfect face. A ritual I thought would be the same forever; just Dad and I on Daddy-daughterday.

He was my best bud, still is, in ways. So durable, so caring, so invincible. The memories we made still clearas ice; the two of us sitting in ourpinkpolyesterbooth, with the squigglytabletop, and ' the same waitress each week. She knew our names, knew we liked the booth in the back with the mirror above, and knew our orders. Itwas magic to me. The same routine each week:Him with a cheeseburger and a vanilla milkshake, me with a grilled cheese and a chocolate milkshake. It was steady and simple; no I.V.s, no shots, no chemo, no hospitalfood. Tookboth our minds offthe pain that I knew He was feeling. Hed smile and toss quarters myway,always letting me pickthe songs out on thejukebox;

You Aint Nothing but A Hound Dog, I Can't Stop Loving You, California Dreamin', Sgt. Peppers

Lonely Hearts Club Band. Our 50s memories meander through my mind. Thankful God gave us ourpinkpolyesterbooth to make memories while we had the chance.

--Jessica Shultes

rlerl

I still remember what she was wearing on that bitterly cold night. She bought that burnt orange vest that was fraying around the collar with me, one day when were bored and hiked over to Salvation Army, same day I found those overalls I wear all the time. The snow was deep in N4ichigan, at least fourteen inches. The air was still as we stood over her for what felt like and eternity. Paralyzed in our own footprints. Our breath creating a white fog in the dark woods. Nothing moved except the growing red sting, saturating the fresh snow. .."Sarah!" mom yelle dfrom downstairs. "Yeah?"'Annie's here!""Send her up!"lve knownAnne since kindergarten, we grew up together. She was always kind of a tomboy, buta cute girl none the less. I lookathernow and I thinkshes beautiful. Wide, flat eyes that glow in the light, and freckles scattered across her nose. Dark, soft hair that curls into large spirals when she doesnt brush it--which is never. I started dreading it for her one slow afternoon but we onlygot one done. She was too impatient to sit on the floor any longer. Shes like a big kid and I hope she nevergrows up. She could take me in a second but she still moans in pain when I playfully punch her arm. She makes jewelry for a woman named Venus and she wants to go to New l\4exico for college. Anne plopped down on the bed in my room next to the duffel bag. I threw in one more sweatshirt by dads orders andzipped it shut. We stood facing each other for a second, took deep breaths in unison and smiled, 'We're going to Michigan." I glanced around my room one last time for anything else I might need. White Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling gave it a warm glow. I remember sitting here on the floor with Anne one night my parents were out, eating ice cream and Iooking through old pictures. Anne said the secret of having lights droppingabove your bed was to pretend they were stars, or tumbling snowflakes when you can't fall asleep. "Lets gol" "Bye A4om," she kissed my cheek and I looked away. "Behave and be safe."'l know I know I'll see you in three days,bye."

We hopped in Karas car, sleeping bags and pillows tucked safely away in the trunk. "lt feels good not to be hiding in the car for once,"Kara said as we pulled away. I\4olly always hated when we drank, so we were gonna be sober this weekend. I mean damn,we hadn't seen the girl since she moved atthe end of the summer, itwas the leastwe could do to make it a specialweekend.

rrelt

I think it was kiyrd of refreshing to us anyway,to have a breakfrom Iooking for somewhere to drink, its not like we need it to have a good time, its almost more habitby now. Kara Iights one of her Marlboro menthol lights that I had to buyfor her, and passed me the hot car lighter. Karas funny like that. She won't buy her own cigarettes, or tell that creepy guy to stop calling her. Ive known Kara for a long time, but we didn't become friends again until lastyear. Before I knew her I thought she was so different than she is. With her eyebrow ring, always wearing a bandana. I can't believe I was ever intimated byher. Shesjust like me, sometimes insecure and direction-less, but most of the timejust looking to have fun. She always said her senior quote was going to be, "lf you live in the moment, you can always face the consequences tomorrow.""l miss Molly so much,"Anne broke the silence. "l know I'm so excited to see her. She said she cut her hair, its above her shoulders now." "Kara, is it make you nervous to drive in this? Its snowing pretty hard-hey ,there was the'Welcome to Michigan sign, we're not too far now right?" our screams of excitement filled the car. "Molly said theyve got four snowmobiles and there are these reallynice paths forthem in the woods nearherhouse-so late at night we'll take'em out and go to his hella'large hill and go sledding and shit, like when we were little!'Karas voice cracked from the excitement.

I still remember what she was wearing on that bitterly cold night. She bought the burnt orange vest that was fraying around the collar with me, one day when we were bored and hiked over to Salvation Army, the same day I found those overalls I wear all the time. The snow was deep in Michigan, at least fourteen inches. The air was still, as we stood over her for what felt like an eternity. Paralyzedin our own footprints. Our breath creating a white fog in the darkwoods. Nothing moved except the growing red stain, saturating the fresh snow. ........"Kara go back to the house and call 911!" 1 bent over I\4ollys body, pressed my face against hers but nothing escaped her blue lips. I grabbed her neck, but felt no pulse. Her bodywas already drained,like a tub of lukewarm water. Lets finish the bottle now-l promise I won't tell you I sawyou lookfor love at the bottom. No, shes not there either. Empty like your gas tank and lip gloss. Drained, like a tub of lukewarm water. And the only thing left is the ring of brown dirtand soap scum.

-Kristen Nicolosi

Sally And A4otown's Best From 1967 To 1968, As Well As "War", Which Came Out In797O

Alright. So one day,l was walking down el streeto ('the street"in Spanish)when I saw the biggest puddle Id ever seen in my life. Then these guys came out of a store yelling at each other. I Iooked at them puzzled, because I couldn't figure out what all the trouble was. AII I could tell is that somebodyhad talked about somebody elses parents behind theirback, and brother, it was on. Idjust come from ahigh school football game, and had one of those noisemakersyou operate byspinning itaround. I started spinning it,yelling, hugging. All of a sudden, Stevie Wonders"For Once in N4y Life" came blaring out of a stereo someone had up above one of the storefronts. All these little kids came out from everywhere, dancing like there was no tomorrow (l mean, its definitely a great song for that, so God bless those fiery little youngsters). I was going to keep walking because I vaguely remembered having somewhere to go. But my adventure wasjust starting.

This little girl walked up to me and grabbed my hand. She took me down into a sewer, and said that I was going to meet the Ninja Turtles, at which point,'Cloud Nine"by the Temptations came on from a source I, to this day, cant imagine. Then I said,'Thinkabout it, we're in Oak Park, or under it, I guess. The Ninja Turtles are in I\4anhattan, which is one of New York Citys five magnificent boroughs. You need a map." She started crying, and the walls of the sewer began to shake. I thought Id infuriated sort of patron saint of mapless little girls, and began to prayto Ra (who doesntlike Ra? Ra, Ra, Ra,I always say) to save me. Then Marvin Gayes rendition of"l Heard itThrough the Grapevine"overtook'Cloud Nine." The walls broke into pieces, and a whirlwind lifted me clearout of the now open cavern thatwas a sewermoments before. The little girl stopped crying and tried to help me byholding on to me, but all she was able to do is loosen my shoe. The wind lifted me reallyhigh into the air, and the girl stood waving. I could only manage to wave my footback at her, and the shoe shedloosenedcameoffmyfoot. Ithurtledtowardherandithithersquareintheface. I thoughtl killedher.

Then I said,'Sorry about that, but I Iike Gladys Knights version of the song better." So then Gladys'song that shed sang with Edward Pattern, I\4erald Knight, and William Guest (AKA the Pips) came on, the wind stopped and I started toward the store to get some food. But I looked back, expecting to see the girls lifeless body, and nothing was there. I was a little spooked, but thought nothing of it and went ahead.

So I went to my local grocer to buy some tomatoes for a feast I was making to celebrate never again having to see that girl, whom I d named Sally by this point. Then Gladys Knight and the Pips version of 'l Heard it Through the Grapevine" had been on for a while. No matter where I went, it was on. Falling from the whirlwind, it was on. Crossing the street, it was on. Squeezin'them tamaters to find the good ones, it was on. Now I'mjustbabbling though, so we can hear more of it. At any rate, I spun arourld really fast and said,"l love this song like you wouldn't believe, but would you play something else? Its terrible music for purchasing tomatoes, I know (you don't wanna know about that experience).' I didn't even know whom I was asking, but it worked. On came the incredible version of 'Ain't No l\4ountain High Enough'sung byl\4arvin Gaye and Tammi (which I believe is short forTamisha (only a few people in our creative writing class might get that ('that"as in the Tamisha comment(comment has two'm's in'it'("it'as in it without quotations)))))Terrell. So I bought the tomatoes and had a feast, but I had a lot left over. It was okay, though, because I was going to need them. 'Ain't No IVlountain High Enough' had put a picture of an angered Sally in my head. I could see her coming after me because she was thinking there aint no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough, to keep her from getting to me, babe. Remember the day I set you free? I told you you could always count on me, girl. From that day on, I made a vow I'll be there when you want me, someway, somehow. So, I decided to hide out in myhouse for the rest of my life, eating whatever I had (which included lotsa tomatoes now) and guarding myself with a rifle. So I was all scared and startedjumping up and down and said,"Please play another song, whoeveryou are, its scaring me." So "25 Nukes" by Edwin Starr came on. My fear of Sally was overtaken by my disgust. I said,"ls this the songyou think of when you think of Edwin Starr?"

So.. ... .... .....if you'll excuse me a second...... . ..........whats up Lauren? .......then Starrsrealhit,'War',cameon. Withthis,lput ormygameface. If Sallywas gonnacome after me, shed better come armed. I was really hoping that she had understood that I wasn't trying to hit her in the face with that shoe, but I knew that she might have misre ad my intentions and might have been outfor some revenge. So I made myself ready. Yea, sing it, Edwin. War. Thatsjustwhat I was waitin'forthat Sallychickto bringto Poppa.

--Rob Collins

"The Naming'

Juan Miguel watches the edges of the canal, making sure his boat stays on course. His first gringa for today. Yesterday, dos grigas, and tomorrow. .who knows. When he was younger, Juan ll4iguel used to plan, always scheming, plotting, thinking. His schemes won him his motorboat, his room at Adela's house, a few poker games, and not much besides. As he grew out of his teens, and found himself still in the same village, he began to take cues from the things around him. The flow of the ocean, the constant presence of the lagoon and its animals, the cycle of sunset and sunrise. . .Juan Miguel learned repetition, peace, accep' tance. Now he takes pleasure in his habits, in the familiar path of the canal out of the lagoon, the familiar faces of sunburned touristas, the familiar conversation with village boys. He lives a life he understands. He is still in control, but now he doesn't need to prove it any more, not even to himself. Emerging from the canal, overhung with leaves of verdantjungle green, the grayness shocks her. She looks back over her shoulder, reminding herself that both such green and such gray may coexist. Scanning in all directions, she tries to absorb every detail, every nuance of this place. His thoughts are kept by the 200 pesos in his pocket. Better than the 50 each from yesterday. Either this gringa is generous or foolish. The wind whips across the lagoon and mingles with the noise of the motor. She can smell gasoline, sharp and biting through the decaying wood and leaves. Underneath, water, halfwaybetween lake and ocean. He guides the boat out towards the lagoon, smiling as the young gringa trails her hand across the water. He likes the curve of her hands, very white against the angry red of her cheeks and shoulders. He likes the greenish color her fingers turn, covered by and inch of water. He imagines her skin feels smooth and cool like the water, but he wants to know its smell. He pulls his eyes away from her hand and looks out across the lagoon Juan Miguel waves two fishermen standing in their rusted boat a few yards away. They toss their old, torn nests out into the water, trying to catch fish. She doesnt wave, because she doesnt want to feel like a parade. Shes never been the one to want beautyqueen status, with a crown and roses on the fyontfloat. She came here foranonymity. No one here knows her name. He sees Manuel and Joaquin catching dinner and waves.

He thinks of buying a fish from them tonight. His last was delicious, fried with lemon and cilantro by the expert hand of Adela. He grows hungry thinking of it. Then he remembers his own catch. How he must have out-smiled or out'talked the other village boys to win this gringa It isn't hard to beat the young ones. They're all show, and no skill. He remembers being 15, borrowing his uncle's boat and trying to seduce girls into it. Cat-calling, inventing pet names, smiling and gesturing, winking with his whole body. It didn't work so well. The village boys still try it. They'll learn on their own. You have to look safe, responsible, kind and gentle to these touristas for them to want you. He's grown and very good at it, learned how to trim his hair and mustache to look clean and neat, the expression of innocence, andjoy to hold in his deep brown eyes, the broad grin that reveals his crooked teeth but shows that they are still there. He wears the uniform of casual practicality: worn jeans, a thin cotton Tshirt, a baseball cap, sneakers. Slightly American, but dirty and old enough to make him still look naive. He understands how the touristas want to know that they are in Mexico, but want to feel safe, surrounded by familiar Nike logos and Levi jeans. Juan Miguel knows the habits that give him the pick of the touristas. Still, every once in a while he gives up a promising touristas to the boys, so they don't get disappointed. And he laughs at their excitement. Juan Miguel cuts the motorand the boatidles, rocked bythe waves. In the abrupt silence, she listens to the splash of wateragainstthe side of the boat, the buzzingmosquitos, the wind blowing clouds Northwest into the Gulf. Checkinghis distance, he turns the latch and holds onto the rudder. He smiles as the gringa asks him if he can take her camera, laughs and agrees to be photographed. He likes knowing her Spanish is bad. He feels more comfortable, knowing she is out of place. He wonders where she'll take that picture back to, where she's from. He wonders who she'll show the picture to and what she'll say about him. He has trouble picturing her in a city, in an apartment, in a restaurant. Alaybe she is always out of place.

Focusing on the horizonwhere cloudygrayskymeets cloudygraywater, she sees a line of color, of unnatural, unreal pink, a live, teeming mass in the distance. She breathes,just short of exhaling their name into the salinated air.

il0[t

But names are too antiseptic for this place, too neat and orderly. In this place, she loses her own name, cannot speak it even to this man, her guide. But he gave her the gift of Juan Miguel,. She traded 200 pesos for his name. He knows what is out there. He doesn't even need to say it to himself. His knowledge of this place goes beyond words. He doesn't need to see them to know they are there, he feels them, and they always look the same. He watches the gringa instead. She seems serious. She is drawn to them by some inexorable force. She turns with wide eyes to Juan I\4iguel and asks to be taken closer. If the gringa's eyes didn't look so big, he would laugh. He knows the rules, what the sheriff and park work ers would say, no boats past the big rock on the eastern shore. Don't scare the flamencos away, it's a wildlife refuge, notjust a public lake. He knows. He shakes his head and apolo' gizes.

She wants to get close enough to see each flamingo to separate each one from the group and watch it move. But even from this distance, she feels nature, mysticism, animistic emotion, divine experience, revelation, the inner eye. She feels like a witness to a sacred ritual, unknown to the human experience, incapable of verbal translation. Emotion overwhelms her and clouds her mind, blending thoughts, instincts, interpretations into a searing brightness, radiating from her forehead to her lips, her chest, her fingertips. He watches from the back of the boat. He watches the way she breathes, quickly, nose and mouth. He notices that her full lips quiver, barely touching with each exhale. He studies the way her nose completes the line between her eyes. He watches her eyes, notblinking, not moving at all. They are an angry green, with flecks ofgray and fiery yellow, Her pupils are wide in the overcast light. Her eyelashes curl haphazardly around them. He watches her hands, clenched in her lap. He notices the two sterling silver rings she wears, neither on her wed' ding finger. But he could already tell she is single. He watches her neck stretching forward. He can just barely see where her other shirt ended, the stark contrast of pink to white at her neckline. He looks down at his own skin, the tough weathered brown of it, resistant to the sun and heat. He watches her chest, rising and falling. The rhythm of her breathing matches the slap of waves against his boat. He starts to think that maybe she isn't so out of place. Maybe this gringa belongs here. He thought she was like the others, just there to take pictures, to feel native for a minute and then run home to big cars and big hotels.

But the others never watched this long. The others got bored. He wants to know what she is thinking. He wants to understand her passion for this place. And he wants her to know why he owns a boat and takes touristas out to the flamenco lagoon. He wants her to know that he could have anotherjob. He could fish with Manuel and Joquin. He could work in the restaurant on the beach. There are a hundredjobs he could have, he could workmore often, make more money. He wants her to know that the doesn't want that. He wants her to know that he has felt what she is feeling, that pull of the flamencos. Quietly, he lets go of the rudder. Keeping his eyes on her face, he slides to the middle seat. He reaches out his hand to touchher shoulder.

-Hannah Nolan-Spohn

ART

I see artin yourhands. Hands a half a fingerlarger on all sides than mine. Hands that know my insides better than me. Experience shows dull and cracked inyourhands, twisting Whirling to a beat I will neverknow.

I am safer holding a pen and watching my heart Beat through my breast than ever following your fingers as you trace Myform on lifes ether easel -Alison Mizen

00

Its Whatever You Think

try. Expect you're no good. anything, only really bad times. conquer fun happy vibes now.

--Rob Collins

Nonexistence

Your eyes lock onto mine, but we turn, As if to whisper so very softly, The sound neverforms. Words cannot express out Shining eyes And the quickand nervous glances Thatwill forever be the only description Of ournonexistence Together. --Laura Klein

Where You Are

Thejoke is mylife

Thejoke is on me.

The punch line came last Sunday.

I may not always know what to say.

I maymake mistakes. You know it is a little bit funny

How I live every single dayjust waiting for an answer

Just waiting for some change. I'm adopting a new outlook. Thats what I tell myself.

I'm Iooking atlife less seriously. I'm not going to be so dramatic. Whatdo I reallywant?

That question is the scariest one Ive everheard

Because perhaps I'll neverfind an answer.

I'll keep keep .rg mypromise.

I'll live looking for life.

And somedayl'll be walking

On a streetsomewhere in Paris Ora hill in lreland

Maybe I'll be driving on a road down south in Texas

Ora highwayoutin Cali. And I'lljust fill it out of nowhere. And lllknowwhyl live. And thejoke is on me Its myjoke to rnyself. I'll sayheyyou moron, The whole timeyou had it The whole timeyou knew

You just had to go far enough to realize you were right. To see you weren't settling Not selling yourself short. You were beautiful and capable. You were here all along Because you loved adventure Because you live for change. And nowyou have your answerYou belong where you are.

-EmilyThornton

Wn, aorr'tyou try saying something worthwhile, or something full of meaning or substance? These were his only thoughts as he stared at her across the table. He watched her smoke for a while in silence. He thought she looked ridiculous as she put the cigarette to her lips, smoking in the way that she does. Her lips were admirably particular-the top:normal, and the bottom: full and pouty. Tirey were also almost always dry, possibly cracked, and fleshyred in color. He wished she couldnt talk. He no longerwanted to see the once worshipped lips move-even if the things were needed to inhale hervital toxins and gases. He pictured her eyes rolling back in her head as it waved at him and rolled her around also. Her skin would turn three shades of white before it was all over, and the green in her eyes would burn one last time before smouldering to cinder gray. Her lips would offer a parting plea proceeding her submission. He would scan her beautiful, plain face. There would have been no evidence of pain, although he wouldn'thave minded some. Herfeatures would be lacking her lifes luster. Her lips, now pressed one tightly against the other, could no longer attack his peace of mind. The mortality of it all was striking. He leaned back in his chair and closely watched as she exhaled the final drag while stubbing outthe menthol parliament. He sawher lips move with no sound to be heard, and yethis silence was still broken. He had recentlybecome good at reading her lips so he could tune her out a good deal of the time. She was asking him what he wanted to do for the rest of the day because she was indifferent to the answer of this question, along with many others. Ultimately, she didnt care because she didn'twant to have an opinion. She was too afraid and she made the mistake of letting him catch on to her. He put on a goodface and in a sweet disguise replied, 'Letsjust relax for now and go out later.' He knew she wouldn't object to this because she doesnt object. Ever.

He moved from the table to the oversized couch in the living room. She unconsciously followed him and tooka seat next to him. He grabbed the remote to turn on the TV.As he was flipping through the channels, he saw h er grab something from the table beside the couch. It was a small pot of lip medix. He watched her apply the balm to her chapped lips out ofthe corner ofhis eye.

She applied it slowly, with care as if not to miss a spot. She put on more and more. One protective coating wouldn't be enough to cover up what she reallywas.The menthol-eucalyptus vapors invaded his senses. His eyes began to water and he could taste the smell of it as his nose cleared. He cringed. Does she think that if her lips heal, everything else will somehow heal as well? She leaned her head back against the couch and closed her eyes.

He couldnt help but feel sorry for what she had become. She was getting weaker everyday. His mind began to race. He knew what he had to do for her. He had to save her from herself It was only a matter of time.

He listened closely to her breathing to make sure she was asleep. He also listened to the contforting silence. For a minute he watched her inhale and exhale through her partially open lips. He leaned in and kissed her lips softly. He kissed them one last time, a good-bye, as he wrapped his hands around her throat. He tightened his grip, andas he did this, she awoke in alarm. He focused in on her lips so he wouldn't have to look her in the eyes. It was all as he had imagined before, exactly the same. In a few short moments, it was over and they were both free.

--KristyJones

59th Street

The smoke softlyseeps through the crack

Be careful whereyou place yourhand

Because the warmth can blister

The paint bubbles with anticipation As the walls shake with terror Confusion sets in Because it could climax at any moment Sirens pierce through the ear

As those who possess more knowledge arrive Clearfluid dribbles

To make its effects known Butthe damage is done And all thatis left Is covered in the most heart felt charcoal black Thatthere everwas

-Matt McHale-Rodgers

envisioned

seduced by the guilt-trip sun whose gleam is lostbefore its won by moons afar to crested waves to clearthe path of lightitpaves clearly blank for which it sought envisioned, placid, racing thoughts if clouds could hearthb silence kept oblivious as theirraindrops wept beneath their trodden ecstasy is ridden somewhat heavily of sharded lives without a want of poisioned souls of nonchalant glistened by their broken cries upon pink cheeks, corrupted sighs regressions won so many,how can his faith turn so quicklynow?

-Julia Labadie

Juyongguan*

I stand, shivering in my cold, damp blanket of enigma. The neon cyan beetles loudlyhum,whizzingbyme in a discordant symphony of noise.

I walk down the paved mountainside, carefully, respectfully, trying to sidestep, The invisible footprints of a spiritual soldier-who walked as I do now-thousands ofyears ago.

Abeetle alights on me and soon bored,joins his kin, Circling above, in a never-ending Ianding pattern, waiting, patiently.

The trees dance in the cloud, moved by everyraindrop. Their slow graceful dance provides an encore to the now silenced symphony.

For the neon cyan beetles have gone home to their families as their anscestors did, thousands of years ago.

The andante melodyof the tress is soon drowned outbythe silence, and I stop.

It is silent, on the arboreal mountainside, as it was, thousands of years ago. And I stand. Shivering in this cold, damp blanket of enigma, a mere, ephemeral raindrop, swallowed by this monsoon, as I was, thousands of years ago.

--Rishi Rattan

A section of the Great Wall,located 7km west of Jiayuguan in Gansu Province and 50km northwest of Beljing

Wakingaimlessly

i dontknowwhere im going orwhati'm Ieaving buti walk sweltering beneath the sun sweating as heat reflects offan everlasting trail of onyxpebbles thinking of nothing ignoring my clothes drenched in sweatand clingingto mybody forgiving the wind as it blows dust in my eyes blindingme and still i walk wondering each moment whatforce is compellingme to continue why i dont stop or run or sit down waiting to reach my destination curious, but numb to emotion I walk --Vanessa Conway

Flypaper

Under a blue belljar sky

The land around me mashed, spread out

It seems like this is all Ive ever known

This drive thru sticks outlike a lone slice of butter

On a giant skillet and usuallyfeelsjust as hot

Can I take your order?

This shortgrease stained skirtgives wayto

Skinned knees caused by the heavy roller skates farther down

I glide awaybackto the almostvacantkitchen

Understaffed again

I guess this means I am making the fries

All sounds sizzle

The grease splashes outandburns myhand

So again I gnash myteeth andbite atmylip

Leaving the kitchen with tray in hand, the sun is blinding

I tryhard, so hard not to fall.

-Michelle Floodstrand

Orr..l was in a car

Driving down Lake Shore Drivb

With some friends, going somewhere

I dontrememberwhere

Memoryis a funnything

Anywayl was driving down Lake Shore Drive

With some friends and I was thinking Abouthowmuchfun I was having

And how exciting it was Doing whateveritwas we were doing

I dontrememberwhat

Memoryis a funnything

Anywayl was in the car

And I rememberl was thinking that Im still reallyyoung and I dont have anything to worryr about and I have the whole rest of mylife ahead of me and I'll be sitting athome fiftyyears from now

Thinking aboutthatfeeling I had, waybackwhen And nl wish could get that feeling back But there'll be no way to do it

Cause Iife doesn't work that way But I'll still have the memories

Memoryis a funnything

-DavidTaylor

Wr", I put on the ring, it felt snug.

Like itfit,belonged on myhand. To my finger it was like a hallucinogenic drug. Bringing me to her with its shinning band.

Butnowl strain,wrench, andpull atthe ring.

Its teeth tear at my hide. When I lookat myfinger,l see a crippled thing, Distorted in color, hurt deep inside.

I close myhand to hide myfinger And show offa strong stoutfist. Butthe pain inside myhand does linger. The luxury of the ring is missed.

Who knew rings could fuse themselves toyourskin? Whydo its teeth clamp to the base?

I did notknowyou would leave me so thin. Now myfinger lies in disgrace.

-Ryan Patrick

Herhairin conlrows

He traced the highways and named them He talked of living life to its fullest She sat close to him and her mind drifted, casually watching her surroundings

Watched the young women in red stilettos race by Watched the old man feed the pigeons three young boys played football and broke into a fight the yellow convertible pumped beat into the street a man played sax on the street corner and someone threw a condom into his case the Wall Streeters were heading to the bars,loosening theirArmani ties caramel corn spilled into the gutter and the mother reprimanded her daughter a bicyclisthad a nearaccidentwith a streetvenderand exchanged words

he talked of distance saying he neverwanted to be more than an arms width apart She Iaughed when he said that.

-Cara Mikelsons

Perfect Housewife

Two more minutes/l'm leavin'/schemin'tired of cleanin/used to feel Iike I was dreamirilor in a dream world/thought wed become closer/with that first lil'boy or girU She came/He stayed home/She cried./He moaned/Now I'm left all alone/And she constantly asks/"Whens Daddy coming home?/Hearthe phone finglDoritanswer/Could step into anotherbad situation/The man I used to love/l m begining to start hatinTStayed patient through the past five years/Was there when his Mom passed/But now who's to wip my tears?/l feared this would occur/Tries to make up for his absences/Bought me a fur/And other things, but his love is whats abscondJ While at the same time he reminds melof what we used to have: A one room apartment to a nine bedroom house/Hadjust a commitmenVNow hes legally my spouse/But we also had time together8elieved no one could love me better/Did leaving him ever cross my mind?/ Nah. Never./Emotions like a lever/Going up and down/Three months pregnant now/and hes no where to be found/Well, he lives here/just comes home really late/then apologizes to us for the promises he knows he will breaUorhave broken/out smokinwith his'male"friends/ extra money not on his check stub /afew extra ends/and all the money he spend/is on us/says were in love/but the only feeling I recieve is lusVrealizing I'm just remaking bad scenes and wrong decisions/we multiplying/addinglife now I want division.

-Jessica Lewis

Fruit

So we talked aboutvarious fruits

I explained to herthatmyposition on kiwi

Was a ployto reel mywomen in.

She laughed in the way that she does And revealed that she hated when people say "that s fu nny' without laughing. We laughed.

She asked me if she could be grapes or strawberries

I quicklyanswered no, Explaining that she was simply not a fruit which came in bunches.

She spoke of celmentines, Exotic papayas, and sun-dried apricots.

I decided she was a peach, Simple, soft, and sweet with very thin skin. She disagreed, Explaining she didnt want to be fuzzy. Withoutlaughing I said 'thats funny'

-Jasan Slack

e b b b

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Fantastic Mike Love Hate

Fant,astic Mike knew them both all too well

Fantastic Mike had few friends. in fact, Fantastic Mike made people angry He would hit them and make fun of them

Fantastic Mike was a bulIy Fantastic Mike wasn't all that Fantast,ic

--Luke Staszak

The sky has feel.ings, too

What. makes the sky blue? What brings about its pale shade? Maybe its just sad.

---David Taylor

rhis is your brain alien Lrover

alien lover, you invaded my sou1. You left me with nothing, but a heart fu11 of holes

Alien lover, you went across the sea. You forgot my gift to you, but you took a piece of me

This is your brain on dnrgs

Oh, how f miss you, and I rea11y want you back. You know that I loved you, and your tri-breasted rack.

When we first met, I actually felt rather sick; partly due to your beauty, partly cuz earth girls don,t have-Risht...

--Luke Staszak

Alien lover, You make love oh so we11. But, all of that probe stuff, quite frankly hurt like he11.

But, oh! How I miss your kiss, the scenL of your hair, I miss the irridescent glow you gave, and the way your eye would stare.

And T promise I won't report you for profit the government wouldn't buy it an)rway/ cuz since you left I been drinkin' so much that I'm kinda in a daze.

Why won't you just beam me uP so I can look you in the eYe again?

Take me to your homeland, let me be your Earthling friend.

But seriously, if you're listeni-ng through the monitor you shoved up my crack, T miss you baby, (Pause here for effect) and your tri-breasted rack.

--Lou Dagostino

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Occupational Haikus

The Therapist

You rea111y need help. Here's my telephone number. We1I, fro. I' 11 keep it. The Rabbi Carefully cutting. What? Ravens? In the big game? ! Whoops! I'11 get some ice.

The (Former) Texas Governor Election? No prob. Who needs "votes" for the White House? He1I, I'11 just move in.

The Pope f don't like this hat. Can someone help me out here? And where's my boombox? We1I, I don't mind so much though. I've been stealing birds. The Valedictorian Thank you all so much. It was tough, cheating and all. WaiL,no. Crap. Scratch that.

The Zookeeper

--Rob Collins

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The Man Without a Face

--Luke Staszak

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Ode to the center of the universe

a

Novak

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Man t t a Face, !

Staszak

Substantial lhrsings

Sometimes I at.tach paper wings to my arms to see if I can f1y. It never works, but if it did, I think people woul-d probably call me something clever and catchy 1ike, "The Man Who Can F1v. "

Three birds sat on a wire during an electrical storm. The first bird told the other t.ow that it was safe on the wire, but. they didn't believe him and t.hey took off. The first bird just shrugged and thought nothing of it. Then he was sLruck by lightning.

A11 of those "scientists" who claim the world is round are f orgettS-ng one thing: round things bounce.

My children were arguing over what was better to eat Macaroni and Cheese with, a fork, or a spoon. Fina11y, I got so upset, I gave them both knives and told them to fight it out.

Have you ever grone to take a pee in a public restroom and not been able to perform? f have, but then I realized I couldn, t perform due to t.he fact that f didn't have to pee at all; I had to walk my dog.

My friend Steve has a 1isp, he pronounces the word ..assume,,, "asstlme". It's rea11y pronounced "assume" though.

ctelttteltct0lttrgttrrslittf;ttrtmtitililLi::i: h[[[ iril iit:iulltultrrulrrullgrmttrnltrmltrut

r,ittle kids are so impolite. Yesterday, this kid picked his nose during church and ate it. At least I say excuse me.

rf r had a nickel for every time that someone told me to shut up, I would have damn near 77 cents.

My mother wasn't too happy when she woke up yesterday was probably due to the fact that. she was a goldfish. This

f wish I had a cooler name. But not something stupid like "Xfy1y1y1y", I mean really now.

When ftalian girls say "horrendous", I have to 1augh. Not because of how they sound, but because one of them had a booger in her nose.

When asked which animal would win in a f igrht, a bunny or a bear, most people would say the bear. They wou1d be wrong though, this bunny can hold its mud.

I think a good idea would be to super glue your butt shut Then, you could fart through your mouth.

My sister was eating a brownie one day. Nobody made brownies t.hough. we asked where she got it. She said she got it from her, "Poopie-hole. "

--Lou Dagostino

How do I love Thee, CaLculator?

How do I love thee? I love thee for the function, 3X+2.

For your enter buLLon, cool and b1ue. I love thee for statistical plot, I rea11y like your Pi a 1ot. Your face enthralls me, smooth and green.

And your stylish graphs: very keen!

For your programs and your tables, Your cosines and your labels, For your question mark and your clear, Your screen even works as a mirror! I adore your natural 1og, list, and quit, Without you I throw an awful fit.

In your muLe Silence, I hope you like me, Like I love my TI-83

---Katherine Baldwin

The Cow's lJanent

I got tipped last night

Stupid kids; what do they know It's not as fun as it looks, being a cow Get up every day at the crack of dawn Just to be sapped dry of precious resources Stand in a fieId, all d.y, every day Chew the grass, make more milk It's hard on the jaw Swat flies

Stupid flies, what did they ever do for anybody Hard t.o get good conversation going Others don't say much Sleep in barn Sleep standing up It's hard on the hooves Not very stimulating Not much change Not an easy life I'11 proabably be a sandwich someday.

---David Taylor

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Poop Y

Sguishes on my shoes Makes me mad Dog gets kicked Not in house--Wi11y yel1s--Dog goes out Doesn't rock Smells no good Makes me Mad --Vfi11 Haglund

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How do we love thee?

You sometimes looklike a tree

This isyourbiography.

How we hate to graduate

And leave yu with such a fate

Of living without us everyweek

And the poetic words we perpetually speak. But really, though we hate to go. Youre always very go with the flow Honestly, though,you're a wonderful friend. But sadly this bio must come to an end.

Jane Ryder

Not only is Jane the most bad ass member of Crest, she also makes mean macaroni and cheese. In her spare time she Iikes to watch Full House and handcuffherselfto Lou Dagostino. In herpast life she was a hot dogvender. Herplans forthe future include playing guitar in a W eezer- cover band and learning to read.

Anna Schwartz

is cool. In fact, she is probably the coolest kid in Crest. She can play the bongos, thats cool. In her spare time she takes pictures and pretends that she is David Grohl. Wait.. .thats not cool

Alison lt[izen

edits. When shes not editing, she can most frequently be found touching the David.

Hanah Nolan-Spohn

Hannah rocks! Even though she has glasses and is the newgirl. Besides the obvious edition of Crest, Hannah writes about'sexsexsex!!!' She also likes to drink caffi nated beverages(preferably warm) Dont kill Hannah,love Hannah.

Sarah Spira

You have been the in-"spira"-tion to Crest, Withyourflaminghair andyoursensitive care expressed to all ofus. Inyou we trust.

Kate Seremek

has a cool car. A fun car for a fun girl. When shes not editing or smelling lovely flowers, she tours withAni DiFranco and Drums and aTuba.

Lou Dagostino

can singhorrible pop songswith an impeccable Bob Dylan voice. Lou always wins staring contests. Lou knows what the hidden message is. Lou has substantial musings. Lou eventually took credit for farting in the cave.